


Vocational Hazards

by MostFacinorous



Series: Vocations [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- Priests, Anal Sex, Church Sex, Coitus Interruptus, Hotel Sex, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Panic Attack, Priests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Priests-in-training AU </p><p>Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I think I want to be a priest. I feel like that’s what I’m supposed to be doing, you know?” 

Deacon Deaton blinked.   
He had known him since his birth, but he wouldn’t have expected to hear those words from this boy, and he felt a tiny pang of panic at them. 

Stiles was from a good family, had friends. Did well in school-- and yes, the loss of his mother was a heavy burden to bear, but that had been years ago, and he’d seemed to shoulder it with grace that, to be honest, he didn’t exhibit anywhere else in life. He couldn’t begin to guess where this had come from, nor how serious it might be.

“Why, Stiles? What makes you feel drawn to it?” It was curiosity, not formality, that made him ask. Usually, the request to be considered for application to the seminary was phrased differently, but this boy never did anything in quite the same way others did. 

“I know, I don’t sit still, I’m scatterbrained, but... I like helping people. I like feeling like I’ve made someone’s life better, and I can’t think of any way that would let me do that more than this. Besides, I remember how much you helped out dad and me after mom... well, I want to do that. I need to do that. I just-- it-- it completes me. Besides, you know I’ve been taking theology courses to fill out my schedule... it just. I don’t know, it feels right.” 

Deaton nodded, and made an appointment to speak with the sheriff about it. 

They would of course respect the father’s wishes. But the church could be mightily persuasive, and now was the best time in Stiles’s life to send him to the seminary. He was young, bright, full of life, and receptive. 

And it was a good choice for him, really. Not one he would have expected, but a good choice all the same. The boy was incredibly smart-- He’d be good for priesthood. 

\---

The provincial ecclesiastical seminary was a large building-- not school sized, but big. Brick. It bore details in its design made of concrete, grand swooping arches over the windows that looked white next to the red of the rest of the walls.

Stiles liked it immediately. And maybe he was a bit in awe of it. But more, he thought, because of what it represented, than the actual architecture. 

He was greeted by Father Peter, who would be taking care of the last of his paperwork. Both Stiles’s father and Deacon Deaton had been in touch with him for the last few months of school, and while he knew in a general broad strokes sort of way what to expect, and in theory he was ready for it as a ‘it’s going to happen’ sort of thing, the moment being here felt weird. Not wrong, maybe, but... 

“Stiles, I take it?” Father Peter was speaking, and he couldn’t help but smile in response to the grin on the older man’s face. It was a friendly face. Inviting. Prone to smiles, he thought.

“Father Peter. Nice to meet you in person finally.” He extended his hand to shake, and Peter caught it, turning it sideways and sandwiching it between both of his.   
“The pleasure is mine, I promise. Come, let’s get you in and settled-- I want this to feel like home to you as soon as possible.”

The first twenty minutes were spent in his office, Stiles’s meager bag sitting next to his chair. He’d packed as light as possible, assuring his dad that if he needed anything, it could be shipped or brought to him.   
At the end of this you were supposed to make a vow of poverty, amongst other things, so it made no sense to move in your entire collection of comic books, or movies, or whatever. 

Once he’d read and signed the necessary papers, Peter stood and went to the door, calling someone else into the room. 

“My nephew, Derek.” Peter said by way of introduction. 

Stiles figured Derek’s other parent, the one not related to Father Peter, must have been big and dark... Because Derek was huge. Half again as broad as his uncle, even though he was obviously not that much older than Stiles himself. And his coloration was a few shades closer to grey... not that Stiles was at all hung up on anything like that, just that it made his eyes stand out, pale bright spots in his face.   
But he looked very serious. Stiles found himself wishing he smiled as easily as Pe-- Father Peter. 

“Derek.” Stiles repeated the name, smiling and nodding in greeting. Derek nodded back, his face remaining solemn as he turned to look at Father Peter. 

“How can I help you, Uncle?” 

“Stiles is our newest student. I’d like you to show him around, if you don’t mind, and I’d like you to show him to your room. He’ll be taking Boyd’s bunk.”

And then suddenly they were roommates and he wasn’t just a solemn guy with nice eyes, whose uncle ran the place, but a scowly one. 

Hey, Stiles got it, no one liked sharing a room. He just hoped that he didn’t have habits that would cause Derek to like, forget that he was here training to be a good priest, and snap Stiles’ back or something. The guy seemed to radiate carefully controlled violence.   
He sort of expected Derek to argue. But Father Peter just crooked an eyebrow and smiled, and Derek gestured at the door. Stiles got the feeling that they spent a lot of time smiling and glaring at each other, respectively. 

Stiles left anyway, hoping once Derek got away from his uncle, maybe he wouldn’t look quite so put upon. 

“I’m not sure why Uncle Peter likes you so much, but I’d watch out. The boys around here have a thing against my uncle’s chosen lap dogs.” Derek spoke bluntly, not a threat, just a warning. 

“I.. didn’t realize he did? Like me I mean. Is he treating me any different than he treats everybody else?” Stiles wasn’t sure how Derek had drawn that conclusion based on the few seconds they were in the office together.

“He wouldn’t be bunking us up if he didn’t like you. Our room is right next to his. And there are other rooms-- if you tell him you hate me, you could probably have your own room.” Derek sounded a bit hopeful at the prospect.

“I’m here to learn to love everyone. I’m not going to tell your uncle that I hate you on day one.” Stiles pointed out, shoving his hands inside the sleeves of his sweatshirt, imagining himself to look wise and monk-like, but really just looking like a shaved child.   
“Wait, is this some kind of set up? Are you supposed to be testing me? Because, I mean, way to start building up trust for the church and all...”

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek rumbled, gesturing at a doorway. 

Stiles walked inside. 

There was no door, nor even hinges. The window had light blue curtains over its dingy greying blinds that had once been off-white. 

There was a table set against the wall under the window, and a single chair pulled up to it. The upholstery matched the drapes. The two beds, on opposite sides of the room, showcased two matching blue coverlets, giving the overall feel of a tiny, extremely sparse hotel room.   
At the foot of each bed was a small chest, on top of which rested a copy of The Holy Bible, King James edition. 

“So... which one do you sleep in?” Stiles was hesitating, waiting to see which bed he got to dump his stuff all over, before he started reorganizing into his chest. He half expected some sort of smartass, ‘I don’t sleep, I wait’ answer, but Derek just nodded at the one on the left-- the one that had been remade with its head towards to window, so that when Derek was in bed, he faced the doorway.   
Yeah, nope, thanks, but Stiles would be facing the window and not imagining scary shit was in the hallway in the dark, thanks so much. 

Stiles thumped his backpack down on his bed, messing up the perfectly tucked fabric, and started dumping his stuff out, only to look up and catch Derek still standing exactly where he had been, and looking lost. 

“Look, I don’t snore, I’m pretty neat, and I mean, how long have you been here? Don’t they teach some tolerance courses?”

“Six years. I’m hoping for the Bishop’s call by year end.” Derek had a touch of pride in his words, and it made Stiles smile again. 

“Yeah? Cool, that’s awesome. Happy for you. Then you can get out in the world and start grumping at a flock of your very own.” Derek stared at him for a moment, then scowled.

“I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same. Mass is at six, and you’re supposed to observe a half hour of meditation before then. Don’t keep me up.”

Stiles sighed and started folding his clothes into his chest, muttering something that may or may not have had to do with Bible Bootcamp, and he may or may not have imagined the tiny twitch of amusement on Derek’s lips before he turned away and started... taking... off. his. clothes.   
Stiles jerked his head back to his laundry. 

He was used to feeling muscle envy. He’d played lacrosse back at school, and every other guy on the team seemed to be built like an underwear model.   
He’d sort of thought he would escape it, here, but apparently between the three or so hours of prayer and nine hours of work, plus eating, there was still time for Derek to be ripped.   
Good to know. 

He closed his chest, letting the lid thunk down softly, and changed into his own pajamas, being quick about it, since a. there was no door, and b. the lump that was Derek under his blankets might be watching somehow, and Stiles didn’t feel like exposing him to the disappointment of his body for too long. 

Then he shut off the lamp on the desk, surprisingly bright for its size, and crawled into his own bed. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness a bit. 

“G’night Derek!” He chirped, cheerful to the point of being obnoxious, and rolled over, smiling to himself at Derek’s grunt. 

\---

Five o’clock came around way earlier than he would have liked, and Derek was already awake when he rolled out of bed. 

As he landed on his ass on the floor between their beds, he realized exactly when Derek had time for exercise.   
His grey wife beater was soaked in a wide circle around his neck, and when he turned around, there was a trail of sweat tracing down his spine and into-- welp, eyes up here--

“Do you want a shower?” Derek asked, lifting a towel as though it was actually the item he was offering. 

Stiles stood and yawned, rubbing his eyes blearily. 

“Let me just pop my pills, and then yeah.” He reached for where he’d left the bottle on the desk in preparation for this godawful hour of the morning, but jumped when Derek snatched them up before his hand could get there. 

“What are these for?” He nearly snapped it, and it was Stiles’s turn to scowl. 

“I need them to focus. It’s my adderall.” He hated this part, where people found out and looked at him as though suddenly everything about him made sense. He liked to think that, once the drugs were in him, he wasn’t actually that bad. 

“Does Peter know about these? They don’t normally like uncleared pills in our rooms-- most of the others have to keep theirs in the dining area.”

Stiles blinked. 

“N-no, I don’t know that it came up. I-- sorry?” 

“Yeah. Well... talk to him about it later. Shower first.” He handed Stiles the bottle and turned away, like watching him take the pills grossed him out or something. 

“Yeah... thanks.” Stiles muttered, not sure exactly how sarcastic it was. He took his dose, and closed the lid back up, pocketing the bottle before taking out his towel, and gesturing for Derek to lead the way.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

The showers had at least provided a little bit of privacy, each small chamber separated from the rest of the room by seafoam green curtains at the mouth of the tile alcoves.   
It reminded him of the locker room showers at his high school, actually.   
Which, whatever-- at least there were curtains. 

Once he was properly dressed-- and with fifteen minutes to spare before Mass, he hurried to Father Peter’s office.

He ran his hands back through his hair, nervous, and even though it did literally nothing, since his hair was like, less than an inch long, it made him feel more put together.   
He knocked.

Peter opened the door, his hair half combed and his face arranged into a curious sort of bland half-smile.   
“Stiles. Something wrong?” A cloud of concern passed over him, but Stiles got the weird feeling it was just a surface emotion-- like when people were high, and they felt things at a weird distance.

“I just um... I didn’t realize, Derek told me we’re not supposed to have pills in our rooms? But I uh, I have to take these.” He pulled out his bottle and shook it half heartedly, again not really wanting to see the look of dawning comprehension on anyone’s face. Especially not Peter, who he definitely could not afford to resent, all things considered. 

“No problem. Just give it to Isaac... you’ll meet him at breakfast, after Mass. Speaking of which, we should head there now-- will you walk with me?”

“Uh, yeah, that would be great, seeing as how I don’t know where I’m going just yet.”

Peter chuckled and smiled, steering Stiles along by his elbow while he tucked his pill bottle back in his pocket. 

“Derek failed to show you much, didn’t he?” Peter clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “What do you think of my nephew, by the way? Will you work out alright as roommates?”

Stiles remembered what Derek had said about how he could have his own room with just a complaint... but he still felt like this was some sort of test. 

“He’s... reserved. But I think we will get along fine-- people usually warm up to me.” 

“I’m glad. I think he could use a friend. Not someone to just nod and smile at him, but someone who can occasionally challenge him, give him a hard time. I was sort of hoping that might be you.”

“How long has he been here without anyone but you?” 

Peter smiled, but it was a bitter little thing. He could see how they were related in that one expression.   
“I won’t kid myself into thinking he considers us close. My brother and his wife and all of our family was killed in a fire six years ago. Derek, Laura and I are all that are left. Laura is his sister-- a photographer in New York. And he was on... good terms, I think, with Boyd, the last co-occupant of his room. But he got the call four and a half years ago.”

Stiles stared. 

“Then, if you don’t mind my asking, sir. Father. Uh, why me?”

But Peter just smiled again.  
“I’m sorry Stiles, but we’re here, and I really do have to go get ready. This has been a good talk.” He excused himself and entered the chapel, leaving Stiles to understand just a little better what it was that Derek found so irritating about his Uncle.  
Slippery bastard.

Derek pointed Stiles to an empty spot on the pew, beside what he assumed to be other new arrivals, none of whom seemed altogether sure of themselves.   
Because most of them had spent time serving as altar or choir boys, sitting here, instead of having some role in the proceedings, especially when they came here to approach the role of clergyhood, probably seemed odd. 

The Mass seemed to take twice as long because of it, but it wasn’t so bad, all said and told. 

Afterwards, Derek and a couple of other senior seminarians helped herd the new crew into the dining area.  
There, Derek nodded towards one of the servers, another guy around their age but with curling dirty blonde hair.   
Stiles looked back and forth between him and Derek, hoping for further instruction, and, when he didn’t receive any, he realized with a jolt that this was probably Isaac... and how much of his and Peter’s conversation had he overheard?

“Uh, Isaac?” The other guy’s head shot up, taking in Stiles’s unfamiliar face with a sort of hooded, shuttered look, before he smiled, his face turning much more open and likeable because of it, and somehow much less vulnerable, too. 

“Hey there. What’s up?”   
“Uh, Father Peter had said that I should hand these over to you?” 

Isaac took the bottle without a moment’s hesitation, and turned it to read the instructions carefully. 

“Will you be okay taking them with breakfast?” 

Stiles scrunched his nose. “Is there any way I can come get them before Mass? I get antsy and I sort of... I don’t want to be disruptive.”

“Oh, yeah, not a problem. I can bring them around to your room five thirtyish?” 

Stiles contrived to look relieved, though he was still mostly lost as to why it was necessary. He’d been medicating himself since he was ten... He couldn’t imagine he would suddenly forget how just because he was growing closer to God. Still, better not to make waves. This wasn’t that big of a deal, anyway.

“No, that’s great. Thanks. I’m uh... I’m sharing with Derek.”

Isaac nodded. “Not a problem. Now, how about breakfast? We scrambled an awful lot of eggs.”   
Stiles nodded and took the plate he was handed. 

When they finally got all the first year seminarians together in class, he discovered that there were only twelve of them. Which, not horribly surprising, considering the research he'd done on the number of new priests that the US turned out every year. But still, somehow, he'd expected it to be like… a full on school.   
Which, he supposed it sort of was. There were classes, reading to be done and papers to be written, lessons on morality and understanding God's word.   
There was a free hour that Stiles put towards a nap, because seriously, his schedule had just taken a turn for the weird and off kilter, and his phone woke him just in time for some more prayers, which he was half afraid he'd fall asleep during, but thankfully he didn't. Probably because he felt like Derek might be watching him, expecting it. 

And then more classes, oration and how to explain what you meant in a way that would be approachable, understandable—Stiles might have compared Jesus to Batman and God to Lucius Fox, but hey, you know what? He would have no problem counseling youths. 

Dinner came sooner than he'd expected, and it was good. It seemed Isaac worked in the kitchen between classes, and he helped serve food as well, so he was the last to eat, but Stiles took his time, anyway, so they managed to talk a bit while they ate, mostly a sort of shy, one sided conversation where Stiles asked about everything and Isaac seemed overwhelmed and nodded or shook his head and gave brief answers. 

Father Peter watched over this all carefully, obviously interested in how Stiles was settling in. 

Stiles noticed a couple of the other Seminarians noticing, and noticed how Isaac's answers became even more short, and how he shifted slightly away from Stiles, and he, the social genius that he was, realized he might have overstayed his welcome at Isaac's table.   
So he picked up the remainder of the meal, excused himself, and moved to sit across from Derek, where he sat surrounded by no one, like he radiated some force field of unfriendliness. 

He didn't even look up when Stiles sat down, and Stiles wondered what he'd done to become the dining room pariah, when Derek spoke. 

"You should watch out for Matthew. He's fond of being the center of attention, and he doesn't like when Peter's attention wanders away from him. He's got ambitions of a fast climb through the ranks. Try and avoid him as best as you can until Peter isn't treating you like a shiny new toy anymore."

Stiles looked around. 

"Is Matthew the one with the floppy hair and the squinty eyes like he hopes to see me choke on my carrots?" 

He thought he caught the tiniest twitch at the side of Derek's mouth, but he couldn't be sure. 

"Yep, that would be him." 

"Good. Awesome. I'll make sure to become best friends with him at lunch tomorrow." 

"You aren't listening to me." 

"What was that? Sorry, I wasn't listening."   
Derek huffed out air and stood, picking up his dishes and taking them into the kitchen. 

Stiles watched him go, then turned back and finished his food in silence. 

Across the room, Matt slipped in beside Isaac, who shrank in his seat, and started to talk.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

Isaac wasn't there the next morning before Mass, and Stiles couldn't find him when he went looking.   
He sat there, foot jangling, thumbs twiddling, head and eyes darting around the room, trying to catch Isaac's eyes, hoping against hope that he'd have his Adderall on him. 

Isaac very carefully never looked his way, though. Matthew did. Often. With a sly sort of smile, and then he would immediately sit up straighter, and visibly preen as Peter nodded approvingly at him, before turning his gaze questioningly at Stiles. 

And he tried, he really did, he tried sitting still, or tried to look like he was, curling and uncurling his toes inside of his shoe, rubbing his pointer finger and thumb in small circles, things he hoped would be unobtrusive. 

He wished he'd known, he would have brought gum, or… or something. 

Would have kept a stash of pills hidden in one of his shoes. 

Mass stretched on for years. Derek kept nudging him, stamping on his toes, thwapping his hands with his song book, gesturing angrily with his eyes from Stiles to the front of the room, like somehow Stiles was unaware that his behavior was distracting. He started panicking, his heart rate and breathing both taking a quick leap, making it hard to swallow, making his arms shake. He wanted to look at Matt, see if he was grinning yet, glad that this was happening to him, but Derek nudged him with his knee again.

Stiles smacked him back, freaking out. 

And then Derek flashed him fingers on his lap. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Two… counting. 

Stiles could do counting.

He sat ramrod straight and kept the mantra going through the rest of the Mass. Numbers. Letters. Stand, sing. The periodic table. Sit. The US States and their capitals. Sacrament. The Presidents in order. Stand. Pray. 

And then it was over, and Derek was grabbing him by the elbow, dragging him out into the hall. 

"What the hell was that?" He was shouting in a whisper, which was something Stiles figured probably came with being angry in a church. He'd have to try it some time. 

"Isaac was supposed to come by with my pills this morning, and he's been avoiding me. I think Matt asked him not to, or something, and—hey!" Derek had turned and stormed off, his hands clenched into fists. 

Stiles wondered who was going to be in the most trouble over this, when Derek reported it to his Uncle. He had a sinking feeling it would be him. 

The panic tried to spike again, and he focused on breathing, leaning back against the bricks of the wall until he felt like he might have it under control. 

He debated going to breakfast, knowing full well how very far away lunch was when you woke up at the buttcrack of dawn, but he also knew Matt would be waiting for him, and that Isaac would be conveniently no where to be found.

He went into the bathroom instead and drank water until he felt full.   
At least he wouldn't have to worry about his stomach complaining at him, on top of everything else his mind was likely to grab onto. Everything except his lessons.   
Oh no, he was going to be here less than a week and get kicked out for being a flighty, disruptive spazz.   
The panicking started, and he slid down the wall, trying to use math to calm himself down.

He was supposed to take a 20 mg pill in the morning, and 20 at around two or three, when he felt himself coming down off of the first dose. If Peter could find it within the next few hours he could always just take his 20mg and be fine and apologize.   
If Matt had flushed it, or hidden it, or thrown it away, he'd have to call his dad. His dad would have to call his doctor, and pay out of pocket for extra pills, if they'd even give them to him. If not, street price for Adderall was $7 a pill the last time he'd over used, and he hated having to ask his dad to do that. He'd had at least sixty pills in there. 60 times 7… 420 dollars. 420. Heh. Why couldn't he need that kind of medication? It would probably be so much cheaper—but …his poor father, forced to break the rules he was supposed to be upholding, forced to jeopardize his job because his son was a fuck up, even when he was locked away from the world at large. 

He was a mess, hyperventilating, tears moving down his cheeks, and the first thing he thought of—ha!—the only thing he wanted to do right now was make sure no one saw him like this. 

He dragged himself into one of the shower stalls and pulled the curtain closed behind him, trying to stay quiet, but the tension of that on top of the pills, on top of his embarrassment about how he was acting, on top of his general unease with the new setting, on top of worrying what Matt was going to do next, and what Peter might do—could they already tell? Did they know that he didn't belong here? Was this God's way of telling him he was definitely treading on the wrong path? 

It was just circles of him upsetting himself more, now, and he couldn't out run it.

He didn't even hear the footsteps over his own breathing, and when the curtain was pulled back, he half expected it to be Matt there to beat him up or something, but it was Derek. 

Holding a bottle of pills. 

His bottle of pills. 

Derek looked for a few seconds, taking stock, then squatted down and held it out to him. 

"Is this what you need right now?" Stiles took it, and just clutched it to his chest, trying to only breathe through his nose, knowing he was panting before Derek came in. He shook his head no.   
Adderall pumped you up. He needed to calm down first. He didn't know how to explain that, and he had a sudden sharp stab of worry that Derek wouldn't listen, that he'd try and force Stiles to take a pill, or worse, multiple pills—what if he over dosed? What if he had another heart palpitation—that had happened before, when he took too much. He couldn't—

Derek was reaching towards him now, but not for the pills, and he was moving slowly, so Stiles watched his hand warily until it landed on his back. 

Once there, Derek rubbed in small circles, not really making any noise, which probably would have helped Stiles not be as nervous about being too loud, but he wasn't telling Stiles to shush either, and that was awesome. And the touch was also awesome, strangely grounding for as gentle and unexpected as it was.

"Do you—can I get you something? Is there something that would help? Water?" 

"M-Yeah- N-no." Stiles pushed out, suddenly aware that he had drunk too much water already, and that he could feel his heart thudding not only in his ribs, but in his stomach as well. He lurched to his feet, knocking Derek off balance and sending him sprawling out of the shower, but Stiles just sort of jumped over him in an uncoordinated stumble to the toilet, where he proceeded to empty his stomach out into the porcelain bowl. 

It didn't sting, being made of mostly water and only a little bile, but his eyes did, as he registered an even more acute level of embarrassment that his roommate who didn't even like him had felt obligated to going looking for his pills, was now standing behind him, watching him puke, because he was stupid and working himself up and he really didn't have any reason to be this upset so why couldn't he just stop?

"Hey." Derek's voice was low and soothing, and he wasn't coming any closer, but he wasn't leaving either, and Stiles's throat had finally emptied himself out. He sagged against the seat, grateful for the cool of it through his shirt, even though he knew it was probably disgusting. He just couldn't summon the will to care right now.

He flushed the toilet with one shaking hand, not quite ready to stand yet.   
But that had been it; that had broken him out of it. He'd managed to exhaust himself. 

He didn't look at Derek. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—Father Peter probably thinks I'm an idiot now. I'm sure you do." He sounded miserable. He felt miserable. 

"I haven't talked to him yet. I wanted to make sure you were okay, first. What you want to tell my Uncle is up to you. I don't care." 

Stiles sat up and used the toilet seat, then the stall wall to help leverage him to his feet. 

"Thanks. I. How'd you know—like, what to do?"

"I heard my uncle telling you what happened. You think anyone could walk away from that unaffected?"

"I—"

"I don't like talking about it. I don't let people find out. Peter knows better." He paused, face shifting like he was trying to choose carefully what to say next. "Keep it to yourself, and let's call it even."

Stiles stared at him, and wondered just how much Derek must hate him, between him knowing, and him being a nuisance.

"Yeah. Okay." 

"Good. You want breakfast, or bed?" 

"I think…" Stiles considered, leaning against the door of the toilet stall, "I think I'd like that water, first. I need to take my pills now that I'm… thank you, by the way, again." 

"I said don't mention it." Derek was gruff, but somehow didn't seem as spiteful as he had, discovering Stiles's pulls. 

"Do you think… would you mind if I kept these in the room after all? I don't—that was awful, and I feel like an idiot."

"My Uncle need never know. Not from me, anyway. You'll have to work out your own deal with Isaac, but he will probably do it to save his own skin, and to try and make you not be angry with him. He craves appreciation and validation, and as long as you provide it regularly, you'll never have a more loyal friend."

"Is that how you got them back for me?" Stiles asked, somewhat awed by Derek's knowledge and easy handling of the people around him. He really should have been listening harder when he'd warned him about Matt. 

But Derek snorted.   
"No. I hate that. I hate feeling like I'm using people that way. I'd rather avoid him than have his friendship feel bought, and be weighing on my conscience."

Stiles gave him a bright smile at that.   
"Well, congrats on being in the right place then."   
Derek looked at his shoes, shrugged, and took hold of Stiles's arms, helping to support him so that they could head towards the dining room together.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

"So what happened earlier?" Father Peter was quiet, his hands clasped behind him, not facing Stiles, which was good, because he knew that if Peter focused too hard on him, he'd have a hard time lying to him, and he really didn't need his classmates to carry a grudge against him. 

"I forgot to see Isaac for my pills before Mass, and then I had a hard time staying focused, and I—my body is used to the Adderall at a certain time every day, and without it I felt… weird, and I felt sick. But fortunately Derek figured out what was wrong, and got the bottle for me, and everything evened out." He shrugged, letting the story trail off. "I won't forget again, I promise." He felt a twinge of the low levels of panic again, now, afraid that he would be dismissed anyway. 

"You're lucky. Derek usually doesn't take to people that quickly, and even when he does, he's usually reigned by his apathy. It's good to see you boys making some kind of connection. You'll need that feeling of brotherhood, as priests. It can feel isolating, without someone who understands to talk to."   
"If you don't mind, I—I think I'd prefer to let Derek tell me how he feels? No offense to you, Father, and I appreciate the insight, but I… it feels invasive, learning about him through you." 

Peter turned then, and studied Stiles, the silence stretching on just long enough for him to start to fidget, before Peter grinned.   
"Yes, I can see why he likes you. Alright, then, off to prayers with you. And tomorrow, I was hoping you might assist me by bearing the wafers?" 

Stiles paused, mindful of what Derek had said, and how Matt had acted under Peter's watchful eye, that morning. 

"Actually, if it's okay with you, do you think you could maybe have Matt do it? He mentioned to me the other night how much he enjoys it, and with how I behaved today—I don't want anyone to think I'm being given special treatment, or being rewarded for my bad manners." 

Peter's eyes crinkled, and he nodded in approval. 

"Smart. Alright, I'll take it under advisement. But you do owe me wafer bearing duties sometime soon." 

"Yes sir. Father." Stiles tacked it on, feeling awkward. 

"Please, call me Peter. I want us to be friends, Stiles."

"Goodnight then, Peter." Stiles stood and took his leave, feeling a little unsettled, like he'd been being tested.   
Sneaky. 

"Your uncle…" Stiles said, walking into their room, but Derek wasn't there.   
Exercising, probably. Or showering again. Whatever.   
Stiles quietly put the Bible back on top of his trunk, put his pajamas on, and climbed into bed, exhausted by the day.  
\---

Derek leaned against the wall of the shower that Stiles had kicked him out of earlier, his weight braced against the tiles as the water beat down on him, and he moved his hand back and forth languidly. 

This was wildly inappropriate. He shouldn't really be touching himself, and he should certainly not be doing it because he was attracted to… to what? The weakness of some scrawny boy?   
Everything was wrong about that.   
Everything.  
Including the part where he wasn't supposed to be attracted to anything but God's work. 

But the graceful curve of his back, the way he'd refused to look Derek in the face until he'd regained his composure…His obvious shame and embarrassment… the way he'd trusted Derek so implicitly, so quickly… and feared him just the same…  
Derek's mouth fell open as he replayed the way Stiles had looked up at him, like he was some kind of hero, or like he might decide to just reach down and break his neck… he moved faster, hips gyrating into his hand, breathing controlled, careful not to make any noises that might be noticed by anyone sharing the room. 

His eyes closed, the look of Stiles's face as he watched him warily slowly burning itself into the back of his eyelids.

The water washed away all proof of his indiscretion, but he shuddered, thinking that he had to go back, had to share a room with the boy. And he was just a boy.   
Derek soaped himself and rinsed it off, watching the suds dance down the drain and wishing he could wash the guilt he felt away anywhere near so easily.

He lay in his bed, carefully not looking towards where Stiles slept, and he tried to examine what had made him—why he—  
There was nothing good to be found, though.   
Being trusted, being needed, that wasn't allowed to turn him on, because as a Priest, in theory, that would be his daily life.   
And if that wasn't it, if it was the fear… what did that say about him?

And worse, he wasn't even ordained yet and he was already mentally fondling altar boys. Not that he'd ever—not really actually— besides, he wasn't homosexual. He wasn't—he—if he had been, his family might still be alive, but he wasn't, and he wasn't sure what made him guiltier.  
His stomach felt heavy and twisted with the weight of it, and he knew he would have to confess tomorrow. 

If he could just sleep long enough for tomorrow to get here.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

He should have been keeping track of who was taking confessions this morning.

He'd had to wait until after Mass, making sure that no one would come and try to sabotage Stiles's medication for the second day in a row, and so here he was, missing out on breakfast, so that he could tell Peter what he'd done. 

They always knew the person they confessed to, here. But usually he could time it at the end of Peter's shift—confessing to a professor was one thing. Confessing to his uncle was completely another. 

He knew who it was the moment the voice started the prayer, and he sat rigid, stewing in his unhappiness all through it.

"Now, let us bring into the light anything that you want to give in to God's mercy." 

Derek took a deep breath, his hands already making the sign of the cross, and started at the top.   
In his time here, he rarely had anything unusual to confess. He always had to admit to being angry, to being proud, to despairing of God's forgiveness. To taking God's name in vain—he hardly kept track these days, and when he had to go to confession, just rattled off his default sins. It had a nice rhythm to it, a familiar groove in his tongue. But nothing new, not for some time now.  
When he first arrived, yes—that was to be expected, but this late in the game, this close to his vows, he shouldn't be having this problem. The disappointment that Peter would level at him was already suffocating.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been four days since my last confession, and I am in need of relief from my guilt." 

Peter's eyebrows had climbed at that, but he said nothing. 

"I…" better to get it over with. "I committed an impure act. Alone!" He hastened to add, though he knew that didn't exactly make it okay, it at least made it better.   
"I willfully entertained and dwelled upon impure thoughts for the purpose of arousal. I have entertained thoughts of a homosexual nature. I have—I have willfully lusted after another." He all but whispered the last, ashamed more by that than anything else. Let his Uncle know he touched himself—he assumed most of the Seminarians did at one time or another. But, Peter wasn't dumb. This confession, so hot on the heels of him moving someone into Derek's room? It wasn't as though there were many people new in his life. Peter would know, could guess, who those impure thoughts were about. And if he did, the right thing to do would be to move Stiles to his own room. But Peter enjoyed making things difficult for Derek. He would make sure Stiles didn't go anywhere, and he'd observe, try and figure out how often Derek strayed from his righteous path because of it.  
"I have been impatient, unkind, and angry, and it was undeserved. I have been impatient, unkind, angry, and proud, with reason, though it does not make me less guilty of it. I have taken advantage of the less fortunate." He thought of Isaac, and didn't feel as guilty for it as he knew he should.   
"I engaged in gossip and failed to keep secrets that I should have." But then, he thought, so did you.   
He wondered if it would even occur to Peter to tell his confessor that. He doubted it.   
"I took the Holy Communion while in a state of mortal sin. I have both despaired of and presumed upon God's mercy." He let out a sigh, and fell silent, his shoulders still raised high and tensed. 

Peter was silent for a bit. 

"I spoke to Isaac this morning." He finally offered.

"You aren't supposed to be telling me that." Derek snapped, his anger bubbling up. "And I guess I have to confess to disrespecting my Uncle as well as my legitimate superior."

Peter didn't say anything right away, but Derek suspected he was enjoying one of his trademark grins. 

"Alright. Fine. Let's see…" Derek tensed further, the tone of his Uncle's voice gratingly cheerful. "So you used Isaac to get back Stiles's medication, and then you used Stiles to get off on your own? Does he know? Did you let him watch?" He waited for an answer, and Derek balled his hands into fists, counting silently to try and calm himself. 

"Well, alright, so he didn't. Still, can't blame me for hoping. He is good looking, isn't he? Maybe I'll entertain thoughts of him, myself." 

"I should report you. You're disgusting."

"But you won't, because having that tied to your name would be ruinous. And you're so close Derek, you can practically taste it, can't you?" 

"Just give me my penance." He gritted out between his teeth.   
Why his uncle chose to torment only him with this side of his personality, Derek would never know. He suspected it was because Peter knew, or suspected, his guilt in the deaths of their family. But he had never come out and said it, and it wasn't a conversation Derek was willing to have.   
But he was comfortable knowing that while this wickedness existed always in Peter, he had only ever shown it to him. 

"One full rosary a day for a month, on top of your normal prayers. And an additional Our Father at each prayer time for the week. F you were anyone else, I would let you go with the Our Fathers, but I know how you need the punishment that you feel like you deserve. Is that enough, though? Or should I assign you some additional duties, as well?"

"Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen."   
It was the angriest act of contrition that Derek had ever performed. 

"Your sins are forgiven. Go in peace, my son. And give my regards to your roommate." 

The door of the confessional slammed shut behind him.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

"Is it just me or are you like, doubling your prayer time?" It took him almost a week to catch on, but it was hard, with their schedules not exactly, perfectly lining up. 

"It's rude to pry into others' relationships with God." 

"Yeah, okay, but like, we don't really have a door to hang a tie or a sock on, so I just figured I'd ask. Is everything okay?"

And what was Derek supposed to say to that? 

"When a priest and his God love each other very much…" 

Stiles raised his hands defensively and backed away.   
"Alright, okay, sorry I asked, wow." Stiles hovered in the doorway though, obviously weighing it out. 

"We have a break in a few days, and Isaac and I were talking about maybe going bowling. Would you… maybe be interested in going with us?"   
There was a lot of hesitance there, and Derek wondered if it was because he was inviting him, or because he was worried he would hold him being Isaac's friend against him, after what he'd said about it. 

"Not really." It came out more dismissive, more gruff than intended, but that was good. He'd been being more careful not to let Stiles see him being anything but distant since that day with the pills. He didn't want Peter to get the wrong ideas, and he didn't want to endanger his vocational call. 

It was bothering Stiles, though, and he could tell it would come to a head, probably sooner than later, judging by how Stiles's face fell, before he nodded and turned away, leaving quickly and without a word. 

He wasn't sure what bothered him more, really… that he had hurt Stiles somehow, or that Stiles wouldn't confront him about it.  
\---  
Less than a week later, Stiles did. 

It had been okay—understandable, even, when Derek had withdrawn from him after… after. But it just kept getting worse, kept being more—first he was snappish, almost rude, then he'd started avoiding him, and now it had escalated to him leaving the room whenever Stiles was in it, unless he absolutely couldn't, or was going to sleep. 

Finally Stiles slammed his book shut and whirled on Derek, where he was trying to leave the room after coming in just long enough to grab his running pants. 

"Hey!" He started off, because he hadn't actually put together how he wanted this to go. "Look, I know I probably freak you out or something, now, with the panic attacks and the puking and the needing pills to be normal thing—I just. It's not like bipolarity or anything, I'm not going to kill you in your sleep, but if you want me to talk to Peter about getting a different room, I will, okay? Just. Yeah."   
It ended up less angry and confronting than he'd imagined, and more self depreciating, which, honestly, his mind should know is more his style any way. 

Derek paused, looked back over his shoulder, muttered something about 'talk about this tonight', and left. 

Stiles threw his book and went for a walk. 

Derek started the conversation that night, after everyone had settled in, and the halls had gone mostly empty and quiet.

"You don't freak me out. I am avoiding you, because I'm focusing on finishing my course requirements, so I can get the call and leave."

"You keep talking about getting the call, and your courses, but with the rate that you're taking them, didn't you finish them about two months ago? Peter said—" Stiles started, but Derek shut him up with a look that would kill if he had that power. 

"Peter has no business saying anything. We don't know why I'm not on that list. I just have to assume the Bishop sees something missing from my records. I'm not worried, I have another year or two to figure it out. But I'd rather do that sooner than later." 

"And you'd rather PMS about it and try to do it on your own, than talk to someone whose dad is the Sheriff, and who has experience getting hold of and making sense of records?" 

Derek went broody and glared again.   
"Are you suggesting that you would help me break into Peter's office and get hold of my records to help me get out of here?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, that's much more exciting than bowling with Isaac." 

"Why? You would be in just as much trouble as me if you got caught."

"Look, we're friends right? I want to be friends. That's what friends do." 

"What do you get out of it, though?" Derek was cynical. Living with Peter for so long would do that to you. 

"Look if you're that worried about it, just write me an IOU and if I ever need help with something…" Stiles shrugged, already pushing his blankets away. 

Derek's mouth twitched a bit, and he felt like suddenly he was breathing just a little easier. 

 

The break in was almost disappointingly easy. The door wasn't even locked. 

"What do they mean, 'lacks necessary empathy'?" Derek whispered hotly, and Stiles had to cover his mouth and snicker. 

"They're totally Beauty and the Beasting you. You have to learn to love somebody before they'll graduate you."

"That's stupid." Derek said, bluntly. "We aren't allowed to love 'somebody'."

"Right, you're supposed to love everybody so come on and put that back, we can talk about it somewhere where we won't get caught and punished."


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

Derek started with Isaac, at Stiles' insistence. Isaac was easy to want to take care of. He was sweet, quiet, eager to please, all awkward limbs and big eyes, with a tragic past suitable of an anime hero's back story.   
Who wouldn't love Isaac?

But after a few days of him following Derek around like a puppy dog, Derek had had enough. 

"Do you ever think for yourself? Have opinions of your own? Do you even have anything that you enjoy independently of anyone else?" 

Derek spun away, only to see Peter standing off to the side, head tilted, arms crossed, small smirk playing about his lips. 

He intended to keep him here forever, or at least as long as he could without ruining Derek's chances in the clergy. He hoped. 

Still, he wouldn't let him.   
\---

"My best friend from home, Scott, is coming to visit. He's had a really rough time with his on again off again girlfriend, and this last split was apparently so painful he thinks he wants to be a priest just for the celibacy clause. So uh. Deacon Deaton suggested he come spend a day with us. It's just a day—maybe if Peter sees you taking to someone quickly, and leaving them with a good impression…"

"I can try." Was Derek's reply. "How hard can it be?" 

Apparently extremely. 

The two of them had been friends for longer than Derek had known anyone he wasn't related to. 

Which meant that in between Scott's fits of irritating moping, he had to sit there and pretend not to be lost, confused, and left out as they spoke in references to films and past events that he hadn't seen and wasn't part of. It was almost its own language. 

Around midday, he gave up and went back to his room, only to find Peter waiting for him there.   
He turned and left without saying a thing. 

\---

"Maybe it's just harder for you to care about guys… maybe we should start you off with someone of the fairer sex, and work your way up?" They were sitting around a table with their supper of vegetable soup and bread, trying to solve the problem. 

Peter seemed to have realized that Stiles was making a project of Derek, but he didn't seem to know that they had started this for a reason, or why Derek was agreeing to this at all, but it made Derek nervous all the same, and he was starting to feel a little anxious about his future as a priest. 

"Doesn't that seem a bit like a slippery slope to sin?" Isaac interjected, and Stiles shook his head. 

"You start with what's easy, and then once you have a good footing, you can tackle the harder stuff. We just have to find Derek's baseline for comfort." 

"Why do you care, anyway?" Derek added, sharper than intended, and Isaac looked to Stiles, as though it was him that the question was directed at. As though he would answer for him.

That was answer enough, really. Derek rolled his eyes.

"Who did you have in mind?" 

Stiles thought for a minute. 

"There's this girl who used to have a crush on me…" 

"Not exactly a glowing recommendation." 

"Just—you want to meet with her or not?"

"Fine. Tell me about her." 

\---

About the time Erica all but tackled him, he realized this had gotten out of hand. 

He'd been nice, he'd been kind and polite, and eventually, he'd even managed to loosen up a bit. It was sort of like talking to his sister. She liked boys, but they infuriated her. She wished her mom would pay her more attention, but she hated when she did, because she was a drunk. 

She was scared that her seizure disorder would act up at any given second, but she'd relaxed when he'd asked what he should do if it did, and then didn't bring it up again. 

It was almost nice, until he realized how close she was to being another Isaac. 

"No one has been this nice to me before, ever." She cooed, lips brushing against his ear and reminding him all too vividly of someone else. 

He shrugged her off of him, panicked and rough. 

"I'm studying to be a priest." He hissed at her, furious with the both of them for having let this get so far. 

"We don't have to break any promises you've made. I mean… not that you have yet, right? But… Don't you want to know what it's like before you promise to throw it away?"

He went coldly, silently angry then and left, ignoring that she'd driven them to the diner, and that it would be a two hour walk back. 

When her car pulled up almost an hour later, he scowled and ignored it until the window rolled down to reveal Stiles in the driver's seat.

"Let me take you back, and then she's leaving. You don't have to see her even, if you don't want. I am so sorry." He meant it, he was sincere. Derek stopped and got in the car, his head thudding back against the headrest. 

"It was going really really well until then, though." He said, like he was trying to make Stiles feel less guilty. 

"That's good. Don't worry, I won't let her tell anyone about it. She feels really bad."

"Good." 

The rest of the trip was done in silence.

As was getting ready for bed.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

They spent a good twenty minutes laying there in the dark, Derek's eyes staring, unfocused, at the empty door way into even more complete darkness beyond, and Stiles listening to the silence, like he was going to pick up on the noise of anyone moving around. 

"You remember that IOU?" Stiles finally asked, and Derek turned toward him, not sure he was ready to hear it, not after the day he'd had.  
"Would you just—today is the anniversary of the day my mom died." Stiles said, as though that completely explained his request. 

Derek glanced at the clock. It had been 12 for only about eight minutes. 

"What do you need?" He asked, heart clenching. He knew what this felt like. He'd spent the last six years dealing with it alone. He couldn't wish that on anyone. 

Especially someone who was trying to so hard to help him. 

"Would you just. I don't know… never mind."  
Stiles tried to roll over, but Derek had thrown his sheets back, and soon was hovering awkwardly by the side of Stiles's bed.  
Stiles turned to look up at him, and then sat up slowly, like he was afraid to spook him. 

He pushed his blankets away, and Derek sat down, hesitating just slightly before rubbing a hand in a comforting circle over Stiles's back. 

Stiles leaned against him, and then shifted to wrap an arm around him. He didn't cry, which was almost sadder than sitting in silence, and Derek let his mind wander, let himself relax into the contact. 

"I haven't hugged anyone in years."  
In the dark, unable to see more than outlines by the light of the digital clock, it seemed safe to confess, safer than the wooden box in the other room where the were supposed to tell their deepest mistakes. 

This was somehow more personal. He'd almost gotten used to the commonness of relinquishing his privacy to admit his wrong doing, but his short comings were something he didn't generally share. 

"You should." Stiles said. "You're good at it. Unless, I mean… if you don't want to you don't have to, I'm… I'd be okay if you didn't." 

"I don't mind so much with you." Derek continued his honesty streak, and even in the dark he could tell Stiles was grinning. 

"Look at you, getting over your issues with closeness. I wonder if—" 

His words were cut off, as Derek pressed lips to his.  
There were warm hands on his face, and he had to move, leaning against Derek more until he could scoot away and balance himself with his hands on Derek's shoulders. 

Derek pulled him closer, pulled him against his chest, so that they could feel their hearts pounding against one another. 

Stiles rocked into him, as, with a moan, the tears that Derek had been expecting finally arrived. Derek swallowed and muttered something that felt like "I know."

And then he was back to licking the empty space between Stiles's lips. Stiles moaned and caught his tongue, scraping his teeth lightly over it, before pulling away to press their foreheads together. He sighed, puff of air hitting Derek's wet lips, and buried his face in Derek's neck. 

"I know," came again, and his hand found Stiles's buzzed short hair.  
And used it to turn his head to the side.  
And assaulted his neck with lips and teeth and tongue.  
Stiles was rocking into him again, the tears seemingly stopped, and his breathing irregular now from something other than misery, and he agreed. 

Somehow, he got them laying on the bed sideways, his legs draping off so that his feet could rest on the floor, and Stiles on top of him, rubbing them together through their pajama pants. 

"Stiles." 

"Yeah. I need…" Stiles tugged at Derek's pants, hiking the elastic waist band down to under his balls, and then he stumbled back off of him, standing to shuck his own before pulling Derek's completely off. 

He had a moment of panic before he grabbed the lotion his dad had had sent in his last care package

"Slowly, okay? Just... I haven't. Before." He was being quieter now, and the lotion was cold in his hand, and between his cheeks, but he passed it to Derek anyway, sure that it would hurt more without it. He could deal with the minor discomfort of the chill from it.

Derek nodded and guided Stiles onto his hands and knees, using the lotion on his fingers, warmed from the heat of his hands, to press into him, to start stretching him out. Stiles wouldn't have thought of it, would have just pushed in, but that was why Derek was going to take care of him. 

Derek was good at taking care of him.  
He reminded himself of that over and over as the discomfort slowly faded, and the fingers slid in easier and felt a little good. He reminded himself of it again when Derek removed them, and pressed something wider against him, into him. 

"You're so warm." He managed, before gritting his teeth against the drag of it inside of him. Derek added more lotion, the cool now welcome against the burn.  
Then they were silent as they moved against each other for the first time. 

“Why?” It came out broken, the words and the emotion both shattered. 

It felt good but it was so mixed with guilt, it made his throat feel thick and his head feel heavy and dull. 

He wanted this, wanted it with some deep-seated animalism that he was supposedly beyond by now. Six years-- six years of learning control and abstinence, six years of devoting himself to anything but this, and here he was anyway, balls deep in Stiles, and falling apart at the seams. 

“Because you... you needed. Had to feel something.”  
Stiles was clutching at his bed sheets, and with a particularly deep thrust, he was driven to bite at the blankets wadded under him, trying to keep the noise down. 

“No. Why are you-- you’re helping me ruin both of us. Why?” Their rhythm was increasing in pace now, and Stiles was bucking backwards, trying to urge Derek on, keep him going, get him to spill out his anger-- among other things-- into his body. 

“Ah-- hurts. Derek ...hurts so good.” He moaned and rotated his hips, wincing with a sort of sharp pleasure when Derek hit his prostate. 

"That's not… you didn't answer my question." Derek stilled, his teeth clenched so that his words came out closer to a growl. 

Stiles whimpered at the sudden loss of friction, and immediately felt angry. He pulled away, rolled onto his back and sat up so that he could glare at Derek.

"Because this is stupid! You're stupid—you aren't cut out to be a priest! Priests aren't—they shouldn't exist!" He was still short of breath, but now it was less sex related and it felt more like a panic attack. 

Derek looked like he had slapped him.  
"What." 

"You don't actually believe in God, even, do you? You don't think he exists, because if he did, why would he let that happen to your family? Right?" Stiles pointed a wavering finger at Derek. "At least I believe in him—you're just here because it's a way of punishing yourself. Go on, try and tell me I'm wrong." He paused, waiting, breathing heavily and feeling victorious.  
"You're selfish, Derek. You don't actually care about helping people, just as long as you have a reason to keep yourself as restricted as possible. A reason to hold the world at arm's length. And then people can look at you and coo over how brave you are, and how noble you are, when in truth? You're a fucking coward. You're running, and you're hiding, instead of manning up and facing your problems, the way everybody else in the world does. The way you're supposed to help other people do. Seriously, how do you expect to help them when you can't even help yourse—" There was a sharp thunk, fist meeting Stiles' jaw, and then silence, while Stiles glared up at Derek, eyes tearing, jaw already bruising and smarting under the force of the blow—not broken, thank God, but the look on his face showing that he had just succeeded in getting what he'd wanted. 

"And what about you, huh? Do you think you're some kind of… of martyr? Does that make you the good guy, weeding out those you deem unworthy? Is that—is—did Peter put you up to this?" His words started out heated, angry, and by the end he'd lost the fire, and just sounded… lost. Hurt. Defeated. 

"No!" Stiles said, sharper than he'd intended. "No." He repeated, softer, and he reached out for Derek, who pulled his arm away and moved back to where his pants had fallen, pulling them on roughly.  
He moved angrily to leave, and Stiles couldn't—he hadn't thought—  
"Wait."

Stiles climbed under his covers, ignoring the soreness of his ass, the wetness that followed, the still partially pitched tent between his legs. 

"I came here because I believe in God. And I—I sort of hate him." He looked down at his hands, resting palms up and fingers entwined near his knees.  
"He killed my mom. Slowly. She hurt for so long, and we prayed—we all did, every day. So many times a day. We asked Him to make her better, to not make her hurt… and He just killed her. And I—I can't forgive Him for that. So I wanted to punish him. I wanted to take something He holds dear, the same way He took her. And Father Deaton—he didn't realize it, but he told me, once, when I asked him why he was taking care of us, after she died, and he told me that God fills priests up with a well of His love, for them to spread out over His children. Don't you see? God and the Church—they'd be nothing without people teaching about them. And I can't—I'm not a threat. Not really. But I can make a dent. I just want her to see—if she's in heaven, or if she can see, if she is watching over me—I want her to see that it's not okay that He did this to us. If it was a man with a gun, my dad would never have stopped hunting him down, until he was dead, until he was locked up, and could never hurt anyone ever again. But who do you blame when it's cancer?" He breathed out harshly.  
Derek just stared at him, hurt and hurting for him. He was silent for a long minute, his gaze turning from the naked boy in his bed to the door, and back again.

"I'm sorry." He said finally, not sure what else to do. 

Stiles jerked his head up, and it was his turn to stare, until he couldn't help but laugh.  
"Don't be. I'm sorry. But—look, don't worry, okay? I won't… I won't tell anyone. I'll… tomorrow I'll call my dad. He never wanted me to come here anyway. I'm done. I always sort of knew that there was nothing I could do—not in the grand scheme of things. I'm… I'm sorry I hurt you. I uh. Not that it helps—I really do like you. I really did want to be your friend. And I—what I said before…"

"Leave it." Derek all but barked. His lips drawing into a thin line on his face. He turned the rest of the way away.  
"I'll be back to get ready for Mass. Please be gone." 

And just like that, Derek Hale walked out of his life.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

Stiles settled in back home quickly. He pretended to be disappointed in himself for not fitting into the lifestyle, for his dad's sake, but really he was relieved.   
When asked, he explained that it was a learning experience, that he had realized that he wasn't cut out for that kind of helping—he still wanted to, but he had too many questions about his religion to devote everything to that. 

Really, the hardest part was the sleeping schedules, the adjusting to being allowed to laze about. 

He and Scott hung out, and he felt more and more normal, and tried to ignore how he felt like he'd lost something more than his virginity when he'd left. 

But that was fine. 

He looked into colleges, ones whose studies centered around medical, since that was another option for how he could help people. 

Because maybe there wasn't a God. Not one that would let things like that happen. Not one who would let someone like Derek—

He was settling in, when he got a call out of the blue.

"You were right. I couldn't—I'm not. What I should be." He knew the voice, even though he'd never heard it over the phone before. Didn't know how he was calling him, or how he'd gotten his number, but it didn't matter. There was some sort of weird ache, just hearing him breathe into the receiver. 

"Did you leave?" He sounded scared. He was. Scared and guilty. This was on him, the mess that he'd made of Derek's life, it was entirely his fault. He'd walked in and waltzed all over Derek's plans and dreams, and… so what if he was right? It wasn't the right thing to do, and he'd known that all along.   
He'd been stupid to think it would be as easy as having Derek say 'oh, of course, how dumb of me, I see the light, starting today I am not a priest in training any more.'

"I wanted to. I want to. But… I can't. I… I made my vows. I got the call today, and if I… if I walk out now, they'll want the tuition back charges. I gave up all my parents' insurance money to the church as part of the vow of poverty. I don't even have enough money left to go anywhere—not that I have anywhere to… that isn't what I called about." 

Stiles was crying. He covered his mouth and held the phone away, trying to keep Derek from hearing his breathing. He gasped in air, swallowing quickly. 

"Why did you call, then?" His voice was still thick and telling. 

"I just… wanted to hear you. You always made it easier to think and I don't… I don't know what to do, I guess." Derek sounded lost, hopeless. 

"Where are you?"

"I'm at a convenience store, the stop n shop, a few blocks from the seminary, on Preserve Boulevard." 

Stiles looked at his watch. 

"Go to the diner. Get whatever you want, I'll be there in 45 minutes, and I'll take care of it." 

Derek hesitated, and Stiles could hear him feeding more change into the phone while he thought.  
"Stiles." He was quiet. "I don't know if I should see you." 

Stiles's mouth dropped open. 

"Seriously? What the fuck, Derek? Let me come see you, let's talk, I won't even hug you if you don't want me to, okay, but I made a mess of things, and—"

"I do want you to. That's the problem." Derek interrupted, his voice low and solemn. He cleared his throat. "I'll see you in an hour. Um. Thank you." He didn't wait for a reply, just hung up.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

Stiles drove it in thirty minutes. And would have gotten a ticket, if he hadn't been able to recite the law, which, prettily enough, outlined speed limit as a matter of public safety, and seeing how he was traveling on a tiny backwoods highway at two in the morning, with nary a public around, the officer let it slide.   
Or maybe it was because when he handed over his license, he also handed him his dad's business card. Either way.

He parked his jeep, ignoring the rattle that had developed as he urged the poor thing to speeds it just wasn't used to, and went in, sliding into the other side of the booth from where Derek sat, rigid, like he'd been staring at the door for the last half hour. Which, you know, probably he had. 

"Just a soda? Really? Come on, have some food. A guy like you should be eating like, a dozen eggs a day." 

"I'm not really all that hungry." Derek said, using way more words than if he really wasn't hungry, by Stiles's estimation. 

"I'm buying you breakfast. Pick something, or you can start talking right now, and we can start figuring out what we're going to do to get your life back on whatever track you want it on, now, and we'll eat after." 

Derek looked startled at that.   
"That isn't your responsibility. My being a fuck up isn't—you don't have to get involved, not like that." 

"Look, I said I liked you right? And I told your uncle—don't scowl at me!—I told him that I was your friend, and you know, the whole time I was there, it was probably one of the very few things I said to him that was true. So." Stiles shrugged and folded his menu back up to sit in front of him. "Besides. You sound like you're in the same kind of pickle I was when I left—with them wanting me to pay for my time there—we managed to get out of it because they make exceptions for the income of the families involved, and my dad may be Sheriff, but in Beacon Hills, that isn't a big paying job."

"They would look at the taxes I pay on the money in my bank each year, and tell me I made too much to qualify, never mind that they have it all now." Derek pushed a hand upwards through his hair, and hey, wow, it was really totally unfair how good his arms looked coming out of the short sleeves of what was supposed to be the world's most un-sexy shirt. 

"What, literally all of it? I thought you said you had kept some, at least."

"Uncle Peter wanted me to be a priest, so that he'd get the gratitude of the church when I handed them my inheritance, all neatly gift wrapped. But he didn't realize that I was using it to replace the bottles of wine that he keeps 'misplacing', so that he'd never get caught… ever since my vows, I've had to take money out of the poor box to fix things with—and I had to make Isaac promise me that he'd do it after I left. And I just—making Isaac lie and steal like that, it makes it like, some sort of bigger sin. Aside from the lying and the stealing, you know.. it's like… well anyway. So Father Christopher started noticing missing funds, and then I couldn't get to them any more, and then Father Christopher started noticing the missing wine instead… It's all just… falling apart."

Derek had slumped as he spoke, until his elbows were resting on the table, and his middle fingers were rubbing circles into his temples, and he sounded tired, worn out. 

"You sound like you need to get out. Get a job—let them try and bill you for it, you have no money, and even if you have to spend forever paying it off as a debt, at least you'll be out of there, and away from hating yourself." Stiles was staring at Derek with such single-minded attention that he didn't notice the waitress until Derek looked up at her, throat stretching and jaw becoming defined by the angle enough to seem obscene.   
"I—just a side order of hash browns please. And another cola?" 

"And two eggs and sausage and bacon. And I'll have French toast, please." Stiles rattled off, not even sure that French toast was on the menu, but he figured it must be. 

Everyone knew that was really what you ate at three AM. 

Once she'd left them alone, Derek turned back to Stiles, his face still damnably serious and defeated looking. 

"I don't have any job training, no marketable skills, and no idea what to do with my life or how to take care of myself. I can't afford a place to live, and food, and my back tuition, all on minimum wage, even if I worked two jobs." 

"Yeah, but what about your sister? Would she take you in? Help you?" 

Derek took a deep breath and blew it out harshly.   
"Laura is… we argued. When I wanted to come here. She doesn't—no one knows—and I can't let her find out. I can't—I can't stay with her. Just looking at her makes me feel guilty."   
Derek's eyes were tearing up, and Stiles's brow had wrinkled in confusion. 

"Wait, are you trying to be a priest because you had the hots for your sister or something?" 

"Wh—no! No, thank God. No. I… it's much worse than that. I'm the reason my family is dead. My crazy ex, she… she's the one who torched our house when everyone was sleeping. Laura and I had snuck out for secret break up milkshakes—to make me feel better, and Uncle Peter, he followed us to make sure we stayed safe, and… and they all died." 

Stiles was quiet.   
"Did they catch her?" He asked, and Derek just shook his head no.   
"There was an extra body in the house. They think the arsonist was confronted by my dad and was trapped in with them. My sister thinks my dad was having an affair. I didn't—I can't tell her… I recognized Kate's necklace. It was me. She was trying to kill me." 

"That isn’t your fault." Stiles's voice was firm. "That's a crazy chick who needed serious help's fault. But that's it, huh? That's why… this?" He gestured up and down at Derek, at the shirt, the belt, the pants, all ironed and tucked and neat—lacking the tab in the collar, and so almost able to pass as normal clothes, but…   
"I don't blame you."  
"My parents would have been so proud." Derek all but spat, falling silent as the server dropped off their food. "They always said that if I wanted to go this route, Uncle Peter would help me rise in the ranks. But after the fire… after the fire, Uncle Peter picked up the bottle, and all he wanted to do was make himself look good." He shrugged.   
"Anyway, the point is, I'm stuck. If I try and back out of my vows, I owe them somewhere around eighty grand. At least I get paid a bit for being a priest, get paid enough to keep a car running. And they feed me and give me a room… and I can save up for a vacation and I get time off to use for recreation, but…"

"But you're trapped. And now you feel like you don't belong, because I'm a dick. I'm sorry."

"You aren't. Sorry. You are a dick, but that's part of your charm. And… I already felt that way. This just… it all hit at the same time. I'm sorry I called you like that." 

"Hey, don't sweat it. Eat your breakfast, though, yeah? It's going to get cold, and you have to be back in an hour and a half or so."

"I… can think of much better things to be doing with that time than eating breakfast." Derek told him, swallowing. He licked his lips nervously, and Stiles nearly choked on his French toast. 

"Y-yeah? Yeah. Okay. Let me just—" he nearly tripped on his way out of the booth, and he hurried up to the register while Derek suppressed a chuckle by shoving a sausage link in his mouth.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priests-in-training AU
> 
> Stiles and Derek are enrolled in the seminary that Father Peter runs.

It was a shitty hotel, super cheap, smelling like the last couple who was here, the smell of old sweat and the cleaning supplies they used to try and mask it, but seriously, Stiles did not care even sort of a little. 

They were both a little too busy trying to teach the other one how to live without breathing for that. 

Derek went down first, hit the bed on his back, and pulled Stiles on top of him. 

"Ow. Damn, if you do that again, my abs will have bruises in the shape of your abs, and then I'll look like I'm negative buff, as opposed to just skinny." Stiles was complaining breathlessly and with a smile, his elbows digging into Derek's pecs.

"You're ridiculous." Derek huffed, grabbing Stiles's arms and attempting to lift him up and pull him forward, but Stiles squirmed the opposite way, down Derek's body, fishing in his pockets for… something. "I don't usually carry a condom on me." Derek muttered drily, and Stiles rolled his eyes. 

"Ha!" It came out triumphantly, and Derek sat up to try and see better, leaning right into Stiles' hands as his quick fingers slid his white shirt tab into the cups built into the underside of his collar. 

He froze, torn, and Stiles slithered into his lap, pressing the line of his erection into Derek's lower stomach. 

"Come on, nothing? No 'who's your daddy' jokes? No asking what my sin is? You going to tell me to get on my knees and open my mouth to take sacrament?"

"Stiles. Shut. Up." A warning, gruff and nervous, angry, not really sure.

"What are you afraid of? Me? The church? Come on." Stiles knelt, plucking at the belt, then the clips, then the zipper, the soft hum of the plastic teeth drowning out the pounding sound of Derek's near-panting breathing. 

"I had you inside of me once, and I've missed it ever since. Don't think I'm going to—you are not leaving this room until I am well and truly fucked, do you hear me?" Stiles was doing his best to sound petulant, and Derek stood, stepping out of his pants. 

"Damnit, Stiles. You are allowed to keep talking if you say shit like that the whole time." 

"Yeah?" Stiles prompted, as Derek pulled him up until they were face to face.   
"You want to hear about how I went home and bought a dildo, and tried to pretend it felt as good as you even though it never even sort of measured up?" his voice was cracking and he licked his lips, something Derek found utterly distracting for a few moments, halting his hands in their quest for the bottom of Stiles's shirt.   
"Do you want me to tell you about how I outed myself to my dad one night by calling your name while jerking myself in the shower?"   
Derek shuddered, and used his fist fulls of fabric to pull Stiles in for a kiss, his lips heavy on Stiles's before he pulled them apart and stripped his shirt off. 

Derek's hands went to Stiles's chest, his eyes and thumbs drawn to the flat soft pink brown blush of his nipples, the dusting of freckles that followed here, too.   
This was different than the last time. No fear of someone walking by, no fear of being caught, thrown out, none of the why, less of the we shouldn't… and even that was fading, because they both knew that he wasn't what he'd promised to be. 

The words were hollow, the same way he was usually hollow, but that gulf in him was being filled at the moment with a molten heat. 

"Derek, please…" Stiles's hands were on his chest now, pushing him back, and he went down onto the bed again, letting Stiles strip off his underwear before he pulled his own pants off. He pulled a tube of lube and a couple of small foil packets out of his pocket and set them near the foot of the bed, and just the sight made Derek's pulse hammer in his throat. 

"You planned--?"

"I hoped." Stiles corrected. "I've thought about this, about you, a lot actually." 

Derek's fingers went to remove the collar, in preparation for taking off his shirt, but Stiles just gave him a quick "Leave it." And he did, against his better judgments. 

"You can't… we can't get anything on the shirt. I have to go back after this. I can't... they can't see it on me." A small bubble of panic was working its way up his insides, and Stiles seemed to know. He lay himself out on Derek, careful to pull his shirt up so that neither of their dicks touched it, just in case. 

"It's going to be fine. You'll go back after this. You'll sit through Mass and eat your breakfast and do whatever they've assigned you to take up your time, now that you don't have to take classes any more—and you'll spend it all worrying that you smell like sweat and sex and sin and me, and you'll still be able to feel my hands on your skin. But no one will know." Stiles lay a quick kiss on his chin, then squirmed down his body, sitting up on Derek's pelvis and pumping his own cock in his hand.

He looked down at Derek over his lashes, his upper eyelids drooping heavily. 

"Beautiful like this." Derek muttered, and Stiles laughed. 

"You're fucking amazing, alright? You—how you're all okay with this, how you still want this—want me after so much of it is my fault…"

"God, Stiles, shut up." He unbuttoned the bottom of his shirt, up to the top of his ribs, and parted it so if Stiles was set on jacking himself to completion, hopefully it would only hit his lower stomach. 

"Lord's name in vain." Stiles said, smirking. 

"You'll be taking mine in vain by the time we're done here." Derek all but grunted, thrusting his hips upwards against Stiles. 

Stiles let out a surprised moan, his mouth falling open and staying that way as his head tilted, leveling his face towards the ceiling as his back arched. 

He scrambled next to himself for the lube and poured some on his fingers (and Derek's abs) with shaking hands. 

"Can I just take you? Like, is that an option at this point?" Stiles slid his fingers down his crack and against—into—himself. 

"Can I see you?" Derek sounded like he wasn't sure if that was okay, if that was weird, but the way Stiles shuddered, it definitely wasn't a problem.   
He crawled off of Derek and onto the bed beside him, leaning on one forearm and his knees as he fingered and slicked himself.   
Derek sat up, holding Stiles's cheeks apart to better see him and, ostensibly, help. All he really did though was manage to get his face close enough that Stiles jerked at the feel of his breath against the lube on his skin.

"Ugh, Derek. Can you just—condom. Please?" 

He ended up tearing the foil open with his teeth and rolling the thin rubber on quickly and fumblingly. 

It was different this time, so much less, but more, at stake, so much more time spent thinking about it, for the both of them. 

"How do you want--?"

Stiles rolled onto his back.

"I want you to look me in the face while you fuck me. I want you to pin me down and bend me in half, and I want you to see what you do to me, want to see what I'm doing to you."

"Do you spend a lot of time with phone sex operators?" Derek all but snarled, grasping at Stiles's thighs and pushing them back and up, towards his shoulders, while pulling Stiles closer to the edge of the bed. 

Stiles laughed and Derek gave a small grin at the sound. 

"Why, is it working for you? Please deposit another ten dollars for the next hour of oh my god."

He had lined up as Stiles spoke, and he pressed the head of him in while he snarked. 

"No, we've discussed this. God has nothing to do with it." Derek panted, trying to move slowly, rocking his hips in tiny motions to get deeper in him, inch by inch. 

"Whatever you say, Father." Stiles muttered, his voice going dreamy as he worked to keep his face from screwing up in discomfort.   
The words, though, pulled at something in Derek's gut, and he bottomed out in a quick, fluid thrust. 

The muscles in Stiles's abdomen twitched, and he curled upwards, catching himself with hands that curled around Derek's shoulders, his mouth open in silent supplication.   
He was panting, lips trembling, and Derek stilled, prompting a reedy whine to emerge from somewhere in Stiles's throat.   
He rocked into him, not a straight thrust, but more of a roll, one hip dipping forward before the other, squeezing the muscles of his ass in the hopes that that would somehow give him something to focus on other than the perfect clutching heat of being inside of Stiles. 

"Derek, please, jus- Derek." Stiles's nails were scraping over the skin of his shoulders, his hands warm and the pain deliciously blunt. 

"How does that feel?" He urged, trying to get Stiles back to spewing that ridiculous perfection. 

"M-more, it feels-- Why haven't we been doing this seriously since I met you Jesus fuck we are so stupid." 

Derek snorted and leaned in to nip at Stiles's lips, to lick at the empty space between them. 

"Because when I first met you, we were both preparing to be celibate." 

"Fuck celibacy. Seriously. Damn. Uh—th- that. Ow." The ow was the calmest thing he'd said since they'd begun, and he said it at the same time as his muscles clenched on Derek, so he stopped cold, eyes going wide and wild. 

"Did I—are you okay?" 

"My prostate, damnit Derek if you don't start moving again I swear I am going to jizz all over your fucking clothing and put you in my jeep naked and tie you to my bed." 

He bit off a laugh and started moving again, angling the same way he had to get the reaction in the first place, eyes fluttering shut and open again as Stiles reacted to the friction with a series of muscular twitches, bringing him close, so close, and he needed-- 

"Come on, Stiles. You wanted this, fucking come!" It came out much more intimidating than he'd intended, closer to an order than the plea it was in his head, but it made Stiles release his shoulders, falling backwards to the bed.   
He started humping up into Derek's thrusts, then, undulating around him, and Derek bit down on his lip hard. His movements sped up, became jerky, and Stiles began making soft noises with each thrust, his hand grabbing hold of his own thigh while the other tugged at his cock furiously. 

"I-uh—" was all he managed before he began spilling over his fingers, directing his spunk onto his own stomach. Derek groaned at the sight and pulled out, stripping away the condom and tossing it on the floor beside him, holding his shirt out of the way to paint white splatters across Stiles's lower stomach, cock, and ass. 

When he was done, he stood there, slowly softening, unable to look away from the mess he'd made of the younger man. 

"Holy shit." Stiles panted, stretching out, not seeming to care about the semen he was smearing on the comforter under him. 

"Yeah." Derek agreed, still enchanted by their mingled juices on Stiles's torso.   
Stiles drew a finger up through the slippery splatters, and tucked it neatly into his mouth. 

Derek's mouth fell open and Stiles got up on his knees, leaning forward to kiss him, letting him taste them.   
He didn't seem to care overmuch about the spunk dripping down the front of him. 

"You need to shower and get back." Stiles finally said when he pulled away, his voice tinged with remorse. 

"Yeah." Derek said again, his neck and shoulders tensing unpleasantly. He shook a little. 

"Hey, hey come on now—you're going to be alright. Shh." Stiles clearly wanted to grab him, to hold him, but he couldn't. Not as messy as he was. 

Derek took one shuddering breath in, blew it out, squared his shoulders, firmed his jaw, and stood.   
And just like that, it was buried. 

Derek picked his clothes up and took them into the bathroom with him to steam while he showered. 

Stiles, for his part, cleaned up as best as he could using just the detached sink and the tissues on it. When he was done, he threw them away and made the mistake of looking up and into the mirror, looking at himself. 

He smiled, realizing how well fucked and sated he was, but it slid off his face as he listened to the sounds of Derek's heavy breaths cutting through the falling water. 

Poor Derek. This was so fucked up, on every angle, and, yeah, a lot of that was just how the church ran things, but he wouldn't even… he wouldn't know, or care, or want another option, if Stiles hadn't shown up and messed up everything for him.   
He must have stood there, zoning out, drowning in his own quiet guilt for longer than he thought, because the next thing he knew the bathroom door beside him was opening, and warm skin still tacky with moisture was sliding against him. 

Derek wrapped arms around him, and Stiles slid his around Derek's waist. 

"So is this—is this a thing then? Where we talk and fuck and feel bad? Because, I have to say, as shitty as that sounds, this could possibly be my favorite thing, except the feeling bad part." 

"Stiles. Stiles there isn't anything to feel bad for. This is—They teach us that love is a gift, right? So take it for the gift it is."

"You don't believe in God, though." His face was semi buried in Derek's neck, but he knew he was understandable. 

"Then I wasn't lying to anyone important when I made those vows, was I?" 

Stiles pulled back to about arm's length, and Derek let him go, his eyes going over Stiles's face nervously, trying to gauge his reaction. 

"You are the best worst priest ever, I swear to God. Honestly. And like, wherever they decide to station you, I mean, I'll get a passport if I have to, I can come visit, and I don't know, maybe next time we can use a rosary as anal beads or—"

"Stiles." 

"Yeah or no—oh my God. You said—you said you love me." 

"I said love is a gift." 

"A gift that you just shoved up my butt. Holy crap I'm in love." 

"You're ridiculous." 

"And you love it." Stiles's grin was splitting his face, and Derek couldn't help but let the little twitch of his own mouth follow it. 

"You know this doesn't actually fix anything, right?" 

"Whatever. If you think life gets fixed and stays that way, you're even more naïve than expected. You know, for a dude who grew up in a freaking seminary, so that's saying something." 

"Yeah yeah. Give me a ride?" 

"I thought I just di—okay, okay, yes, getting my keys, god."   
Stiles slung his pants on.   
"I am so coming back and showering and then passing out. And then maybe beating off in the bed, because it smells like you."

"Stiles."

"Yep, back to churchland, off we go." 

And they did. And he did. And it was okay.   
For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the process of writing this fic, I was caught in my priest porning teen wolf ways, and quietly blackmailed into writing a Peter/ Lydia centric sequel, which will also feature Sterek and how they fare in this universe pretty heavily. So... stay tuned folks, you don't wanna move folks, cause there's more excitement coming!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and my apologies for the strange fluctuations of chapter lengths. I did my best to try and break it up in a way that wouldn't totally ruin everything, but... I write funny so. 
> 
> Again, if you're interested in teaching me better than I know regarding Catholicism, seminaries, priests, or Teen Wolf in general, or just want to say hi!-- please don't hesitate to drop me a line here or on on my Tumblr: fandomitis.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> The story is actually finished, and I'll be posting chapter updates as they finish being checked for typos. I'm not entirely sure how many chapters it will end up being, as I'll break it up where it feels right as I read through, but the total length of the document is 40 pages, just to give you an idea of the length of the thing. 
> 
> Written over the course of six days, this was in response to someone on Tumblr being sad there was no priest AU, and my friend Azha deciding that it was my job to fix that. 
> 
> Hope it works okay! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not Catholic, and have never attended a seminary, so much of this is extrapolated from the research I did in preparation for writing this story. If you know better, and would like to give me pointers on how to fix it, and how to better write this situation, I am more than willing to learn.  
> You can find me here, and at MostFacinorous.tumblr.com!


End file.
